


Memories of You

by Ghostlymissions



Series: Small Moments That Mean The World [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Blow Jobs, M/M, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Oral Sex, Pining, Post-Recovery Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-08
Updated: 2015-11-08
Packaged: 2018-04-30 14:52:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5167964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghostlymissions/pseuds/Ghostlymissions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was who Sam had suggested it – going to the Smithsonian and picking up a few of Bucky’s personal items. He said it might help Bucky to connect the past to the present, to give him something tangible that he owned before HYDRA. Things that were solely his, unblemished by it all. And Steve was desperate enough to give it a try.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Memories of You

**Author's Note:**

> From the November writing challenge, prompt #3: “ _You inherited it._ ”

The cardboard box sat untouched, wedged between the couch and the wall. Every day Steve searched the apartment, desperate to see some item on a shelf, some evidence that Bucky cared. But the box remained closed, gathering dust.

It had only been a few weeks; Natasha told him not to push.

****

It was who Sam had suggested it – going to the Smithsonian and picking up a few of Bucky’s personal items. He said it might help Bucky connect the past to the present, to give him something tangible that he owned before HYDRA. Things that were solely his, unblemished by it all. And Steve was desperate enough to give it a try.

Getting the items was almost impossible; Steve had used every connection he knew, with equal amounts of guilt-tripping the museum and forcing their hand. But two weeks later, he found himself in the backroom collections with the curator, fumbling through a lame excuse about wanting his dead friend’s items for closure. She had touched his shoulder with a tight smile, murmured _‘of course, anything you’d like’_ before carefully folding his chosen items into bubble wrap. There wasn’t much; Bucky had family who inherited his belongings, so almost no ‘originals' existed today. But it was a start, Steve hoped.

When he had arrived home that evening, Bucky was in his usual spot: the corner of the couch, with a perfect view of the front door and the window. He was watching TV, wearing grey sweatpants and a long sleeve shirt, a glove covering his metal hand. But the casual atmosphere was offset by his eerie stillness, the knife by his side. Always vigilant, with perimeter checks every hour, every day for the month he’d been home. His eyes tracked Steve’s movements as he approached. 

Steve smiled brightly when their eyes met. 

“Hey,” he said. “I got you something”.

Bucky’s eyed flicked down to the box, then back to Steve’s face, carefully blank. Steve immediately regretted his words - a mystery box couldn’t have been good, coming from HYDRA. He gently set the box on the coffee table.

“It’s some of your old things,” he said. “From…before. Before the war.” He winced. “World War II, I mean”. 

Bucky said nothing, ignoring the box, staring at Steve’s face. Steve hated these moments of awkwardness, hated even more the forced facade he used to try and drown them out. He pushed on.

“The Smithsonian had some of your stuff – the things you gave me for safekeeping, before you left for the 107th, remember?” Steve asked.

“No”. 

“Oh”. Steve gestured awkwardly at the box. “Well, it’s just a few personal items. I thought you might like them back.”

He wanted to say _Please god, take this stuff and decorate your room so it stops looking like a prison cell_. Or maybe _I just want you to be okay, for real, for once_. But Steve swallowed the words. Bucky didn’t do well with suggestions, always seemed to take them as orders. They were his possessions; he could do what he liked with them.

Steve held his breath as Bucky’s eyes slowly drifted down to the box. After a moment Bucky leaned forward, picking it up and placing it on his knees. His eyes flicked back to Steve’s face – looking for reassurance, maybe. Steve smiled. Bucky picked up his knife and swiftly cut the tape. He opened the box and looked inside. 

A beat. Two. Bucky gently closed the box, looking back to Steve’s face.

“Thank you,” he said. And that was all.

He sat with the box on his lap for the rest of the evening, never glancing at it, before placing it beside the couch when he went to bed.

It hadn’t been touched since. 

****

Another month passed. A few more.

Bucky came back slowly; not the same as he once was, but still himself, in a way. He regained his independence, some sense of autonomy. He liked spending time with Bruce in his lab, showed interest in Tony’s inventions. He smiled at Steve, sometimes, kissed him like he used to. He only checked the perimeter when he thought Steve was asleep. 

Bucky was okay – _good_ , even. 

But his bedroom remained as sparse as ever. He didn’t talk as much, hated when Steve brought up the past. The box sat untouched.

“Maybe he just wants to move on, start fresh” Sam said one day, bumping Steve's arm with his own. “Can’t fault a guy for that”.

And no, Steve thought. He couldn’t fault Bucky for anything. 

****

They laid together on the couch, Bucky watching TV on one end and Steve reading at the other, their legs tangled, a rare moment of intimacy. Steve could see the edge of the box peeking out from its corner, and he couldn’t stop himself from asking.

“Do you not want them? Your old things?”

He felt Bucky tense, looking down the couch at Steve with a cautious expression.

“They’re just…things,” he said. “They have no relevance. I don’t remember them”. 

It stung, but Steve had been prepared for the possibility, had decided months ago to accept any version of Bucky that was offered. He nodded slowly. “So should I return them to the museum?”

Bucky shrugged. “I don’t know. If you want”. 

He didn’t. He couldn’t bring himself to.

****

Steve glanced up at the sound of the key in the lock, putting his thumb in the book he was reading to hold his place. 

“Hey,” he said as Bucky stepped inside. 

"Hi,” Bucky glanced at him. “Good book?”

Steve looked down. _Fight Club_ , one of Tony’s suggestions. “It’s… interesting”.

Bucky looked freshly showered, damp tendrils of hair framing his face as he bent to untie his muddy boots. Probably coming from training, then. That was good - the training room always put Bucky in a cheerful mood.

“Did you eat?” Steve asked, watching Bucky unbutton his winter coat. 

Bucky shook his head. 

“I picked up some Thai on my way home. It’s in the fridge if you want it.”

But Bucky walked toward him instead, his eyes indecipherable, reflecting the lamplight. He grabbed Steve’s hand and dragged him out of the chair, the book falling to the ground. His mouth pressed against Steve’s the minute he was upright, a soft noise in his throat.

Steve moaned, kissed him back, chasing away the winter cold on Bucky’s lips. 

Bucky got like this, sometimes, his face calm but his body language desperate, itching to be closer. Steve tried to see it as a good thing - a memory, maybe, of how they used to be. Bucky breaking through his Soldier barriers, needing Steve to keep him grounded. A reassurance of something. 

Steve's hands threaded through Bucky’s soft hair, pulling him closer, wanting more. But Bucky just moved to his neck, biting at the tender skin, then soothed it with his tongue. His right hand slid under Steve’s shirt, tracing muscles. Steve’s knees trembled a little as Bucky sucked a bruise behind his jaw.

“Wait,” he said. “Let’s go to my room”. 

Bucky let out a harsh breath against his neck, then shook his head, pushing Steve towards the couch instead. They crashed down, Bucky shoving at Steve’s shirt, kissing the exposed skin. Steve gasped as Bucky kissed his nipple, bit down gently. Then his right hand brushed Steve’s stomach; Steve flinched harshly at the cold metal.

“Jeez, Buck,” he groaned. “Warm that up before you go further south, huh?”

A huff of laughter against his chest, so rare that Steve’s heart tripped. Bucky stuck his hand in his armpit to warm it up, a shadow of a smile as he glanced up at Steve. So much like _his_ Bucky that Steve’s heart ached.

And then Bucky was kissing down Steve’s chest, kneeling on the floor, and Steve forgot how to breathe. Pants unbuttoned, boxer briefs pushed down, and _Oh_ , Bucky’s mouth, hot and wet against his skin. Steve gasped, his heart racing. 

“ _Please-_ ”

They hadn’t done this since Before. Bucky used to love to suck him, during the times when he wasn't scared of what they were; would pin Steve against the bed the moment he walked in the door, a gleam in his eye. 

Some things never changed. 

Steve touched Bucky’s hair tentatively, unsure if could, but Buck let out a small moan in response. Sweat prickled against his skin. Bucky glanced up at him as he slid his mouth down, swallowed wetly, then bobbed his head back up. Steve’s heart slammed against his ribcage. 

“Oh god, Buck-”

It didn’t last long; it never did. Steve tried to push Bucky away, tried to warn him, but Bucky just rolled with the movement, his hands moving to brace Steve’s hips. Bucky flicked his tongue against the tip, teased the ridge. His hand moved off Steve’s thigh, disappeared down out of view. The clink of a belt, a small whine. Steve couldn’t catch his breath, didn’t even want to. 

He was hyperventilating when he came, arching against the couch, his hand in Bucky’s hair. A second later Bucky gasped, shivering against Steve’s thigh, mouthing at the skin there. Time stretched.

Unsteadily Steve dragged Bucky onto the couch, pulling him close. He kissed him messily, tasting himself on Bucky's lips, breathing in Bucky’s scent. God, he missed this so much. 

“That was…it was…” Steve laughed, unable to think.

Bucky smiled at him, kissed his mouth again, his eyes shining. Steve grabbed his shirt, meaning to clean up, but Bucky took it from him, wiping his own hand first and then carefully cleaning Steve. Just like old times.

Suddenly he paused, a crease forming between his brows. He moved to place his flesh hand against Steve’s chest, feeling his rapid heartbeat. The change of atmosphere caused Steve to push himself further up, reaching out, but Bucky kept staring, eyes narrowed. 

“Before,” he said slowly. “Sometimes, after we did this, you’d…”

He trailed off, frowning at Steve. Lost in thought, he brought his right hand up to rub at Steve’s chest, slow circles, his left idly touching Steve’s wrist. Knowing the movements but unable to complete the memory. Bucky searched Steve’s face.

Steve’s heart leapt into his throat. This was the first time Bucky had brought up the past himself, had openly _asked_ about a memory. He nodded frantically. 

“Sometimes I’d get asthma attacks, after,” he said. “I’d get overwhelmed. And you’d do just that, rub my chest like that. You had this pocket watch-”

Abruptly Bucky pulled away and leaned over the couch, grabbing the small cardboard box with one hand, the other arm stretching out, still on Steve’s chest. His expression tense, he opened the cardboard flaps and rummaged around, like it was nothing. Like the box hadn’t been sitting there for months, untouched.

Steve’s heart tripped again, and Bucky felt it, glanced up at him. _Don’t push_ , Natasha had said. _Let him figure it out_.

“Sorry,” Steve said, for lack of anything else to say. He took the blanket from the back of the couch and draped it across himself while he waited.

A second later Bucky pulled the pocket watch from its plastic wrapping, then pushed the box aside. 

“This one?” he asked.

Steve nodded. “You inherited it from your grandfather when you were…16?”

Bucky turned the watch over in his hands, still frowning. 

“You loved it,” Steve persisted. _Screw Natasha’s advice_. “Brought it everywhere. You thought it made you look refined”. He laughed a little. “It did, too. Girls swooned when they saw it - said you were a real gentleman”. 

“I don’t remember,” Bucky said absently. He looked back up at Steve. “Why did I think of it when you…”

“Oh,” Steve said, “Right. Um. When I would get attacks, you would put your chest against my back, so I could follow your breathing and heartbeat?”

He paused, waiting for a flicker of remembrance, but Bucky’s face stayed blank. Steve swallowed, his mouth dry, and continued.

“Except after we… uh,” Heat rushed to his face. “After we had… fooled around, you’d be breathing fast, too, and I couldn’t match that pace. So you’d get your pocket watch, and you’d lean against me like normal, and then we’d time our breaths using the watch, to slow them down together”. 

Bucky pushed the button on the watch, making the lid pop open. He stared curiously at the clock face. Its hands were still, probably broke decades ago, but Bucky nodded, touching the glass. “Count of four,” he murmured. 

Warmth spread through Steve’s stomach. “Yep, that was it”. 

It was everything Steve had wanted, when Bucky had first come home; someone to share the memories of his life. Someone with shared life experience, as he had told Natasha. But he didn’t push for more, giving Bucky time to work things out himself. 

After a moment Bucky shuffled back, leaning against Steve’s chest. He turned the watch over and over in his hands.

“Your mother,” he said hesitantly. “Sara…?”

Steve hummed at the memory, tucking his chin over Bucky’s shoulder. “She taught you how to take my pulse, how to time it using that watch. And how to count my breaths, when I had pneumonia”. He smiled. “Drove me crazy sometimes, the way you acted like her assistant”. 

But Bucky didn’t react to the memory, just searched Steve’s face for a long while. Seemingly satisfied by whatever he saw there, he folded the pocket watch back into its plastic, tossing it back to the box. The museum curator would be horrified.

“C’mon,” Bucky said. “Let’s go to bed”.

****

Later, in the darkness of his bedroom, Steve said softly, “We can find a repair shop if you want. To get the watch working again”.

He felt Bucky shake his head. “No, it’s okay”. 

Steve paused. “You don’t want it?”

“I don’t remember much about it,” Bucky replied. “Only what we talked about”. 

Steve knew he should let it go, but he turned on his side to face Bucky anyway. Tried to find Bucky’s eyes in the dark, to feel him out.

“What about the rest of your things?” he asked. “You don’t remember _any_ of them?”

Bucky shuffled closer in reply, wrapping his arm around Steve. He tucked his head against Steve's chest. They lay together for a moment, just breathing.

“I remember you,” Bucky said. “Only you.”

***


End file.
